This morning, all before 10 am, the following things happened:
1. I found out that two little people that I hold most dear have swine flu. I also mistakenly told my friend that rats were worse than her two anklebiters with swine flu. What I meant to say was "dude! I just have decomposed varmints! You have a little one with a 104 degree fever! And are housebound indefinitely!" In the never ending game of whose life is worse, she wins. I am so buying her a drink when I see her IN VEGAS IN TWO MONTHS! Yes, I'm excited.
2. My dog jumped in the shower with my kid this morning. After he got out the front door and ran down the neighborhood.
3. My kid dumped a whole cup of my coffee on the chair that matches the dog eaten couch. Luckily, they are not coming to shoot the cover for House Beautiful anytime soon. Or ever.
I'm starting to wonder what the afternoon has in store.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
The not -so-pep Rally
I'm a homebody. I love putzing around in my pajamas, rereading old decorating magazines. Planning my next purchase. But I'm also a busy mother of two extremely active anklebiters, which means my house isn't always company ready.
My neighborhood is a mixed bag of ages. We've got some young families, but a few folks have grown kids that are long out of the house. These neighbors like to spring me with surprise attacks/visits. My doorbell will suddenly ring, and I'm in my Costco pajamas, coffee cup in hand- and I will glance over and see the breakfast dishes still in the sink, laundry in mid-folding on the dog chewed couch, recycling that hasn't been taken out. And the daily dose of Barbies, crayons, stuffed animals and other toddler crap that explodes in my house on a regular basis.
My Mom always taught me that if you could get the following things done each day, your house may not be company ready, but you won't be swallowed by mess. Not to get all flylady on you or anything, but they are:
1. Run the dishwasher before you go to bed and empty it first thing in the morning.
2. Make your bed. Your room can be a disaster but if the bed is made? It looks neat.
3. Wipe down the bathrooms.
4. Wash, dry, fold and put away one load of laundry each day.
Most days, this gets done. But, honestly? I've come up with a word that best describes my housekeeping style.
It's called "The Rally."
At five o'clock, I scurry around, yelling like a Polish washwoman, trying to undo a day's worth of mess in 60 minutes. My kids dread five o'clock. It's the witching hour when their mother morphs into a lunatic armed with Lysol wipes and empty threats. One hour later, the house looks presentable. Dinner gets started, my husband arrives home, and life is good.
Except for the day he came home early.
His eyes literally bugged out of his head, and if I remember correctly? He thought we got robbed.
The Rally. Right, wrong or indifferent, it works.
If you come home after six.
My neighborhood is a mixed bag of ages. We've got some young families, but a few folks have grown kids that are long out of the house. These neighbors like to spring me with surprise attacks/visits. My doorbell will suddenly ring, and I'm in my Costco pajamas, coffee cup in hand- and I will glance over and see the breakfast dishes still in the sink, laundry in mid-folding on the dog chewed couch, recycling that hasn't been taken out. And the daily dose of Barbies, crayons, stuffed animals and other toddler crap that explodes in my house on a regular basis.
My Mom always taught me that if you could get the following things done each day, your house may not be company ready, but you won't be swallowed by mess. Not to get all flylady on you or anything, but they are:
1. Run the dishwasher before you go to bed and empty it first thing in the morning.
2. Make your bed. Your room can be a disaster but if the bed is made? It looks neat.
3. Wipe down the bathrooms.
4. Wash, dry, fold and put away one load of laundry each day.
Most days, this gets done. But, honestly? I've come up with a word that best describes my housekeeping style.
It's called "The Rally."
At five o'clock, I scurry around, yelling like a Polish washwoman, trying to undo a day's worth of mess in 60 minutes. My kids dread five o'clock. It's the witching hour when their mother morphs into a lunatic armed with Lysol wipes and empty threats. One hour later, the house looks presentable. Dinner gets started, my husband arrives home, and life is good.
Except for the day he came home early.
His eyes literally bugged out of his head, and if I remember correctly? He thought we got robbed.
The Rally. Right, wrong or indifferent, it works.
If you come home after six.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Heavy Stuff
Last night was interesting. I decided to take what I had learned from this week's cooking class, and apply it in a real life situation. Here is what we cooked in this week's class:
Potage Parmentier (Leek
and Potato Soup)
Tournedo Henry IV (beef filets with artichoke bottoms and bernaise sauce)
Pointes D'Asperges Au beurre (asparagus tips sauteed in butter)
Clafouti Aux Poires
Bottom line? The French love butter. Henry IV was a fat ass and Parisian cooking involves a lot of suffering for aesthetic purposes only. I don't think I will ever peel a small waxy potato and then use a melon baller to make small rounds of potatoes again. Or trim the little baby leaves off an asparagus tip. Seriously.
But? The artichoke cups filled with bernaise sauce placed on top of a filet that has been seasoned and encased in bacon? Crikey, it was good. And when I paired that with some plain roasted asparagus and roasted potatoes? Good stuff. I even found an easier recipe for pear clafouti (thank you Ina Garten).
We had a small, but interesting group from my husband's work. A nurse that he works with, that is married to a game warden, and another doctor that specializes in helping people die (can't remember the Latin name) that is married to an Economics professor. I spent most of my time talking to the Death Doctor.
I had never heard of her specialty before, but it makes perfect sense. After a person is given a terminal sentence, she assists with their pain management, works with hospice and ironically, spends a good amount of time convincing the patient's original doctor to let them go gracefully. She said she gets a lot of satisfaction out of comforting families, and helping folks live out their last days with dignity and peace. Surprisingly, she said most of her job frustration is from working with the other doctors. They have a hard time letting go- of accepting defeat and letting their patient die. It goes against everything they have trained for, worked towards. She chastised my husband last night for giving a family hope, when she felt there was none to be had. He vehemently disagreed with her, and at one point, I thought someone was going to take a bath in bernaise sauce. (not really, but it makes for a tasty visual).
She is comfortable with death. She's not jaded. She loves the interactions she has with patients and their families, and really feels like she is bettering a situation. That day, hours before she hightailed it over to our house for a cholesterol-laden meal, she was helping a 37 year old that had been diagnosed with cancer and had 2 weeks left to live. She has 2 young kids.
Heavy. Heavy meal, heavy discussion.
Potage Parmentier (Leek
and Potato Soup)
Tournedo Henry IV (beef filets with artichoke bottoms and bernaise sauce)
Pointes D'Asperges Au beurre (asparagus tips sauteed in butter)
Clafouti Aux Poires
Bottom line? The French love butter. Henry IV was a fat ass and Parisian cooking involves a lot of suffering for aesthetic purposes only. I don't think I will ever peel a small waxy potato and then use a melon baller to make small rounds of potatoes again. Or trim the little baby leaves off an asparagus tip. Seriously.
But? The artichoke cups filled with bernaise sauce placed on top of a filet that has been seasoned and encased in bacon? Crikey, it was good. And when I paired that with some plain roasted asparagus and roasted potatoes? Good stuff. I even found an easier recipe for pear clafouti (thank you Ina Garten).
We had a small, but interesting group from my husband's work. A nurse that he works with, that is married to a game warden, and another doctor that specializes in helping people die (can't remember the Latin name) that is married to an Economics professor. I spent most of my time talking to the Death Doctor.
I had never heard of her specialty before, but it makes perfect sense. After a person is given a terminal sentence, she assists with their pain management, works with hospice and ironically, spends a good amount of time convincing the patient's original doctor to let them go gracefully. She said she gets a lot of satisfaction out of comforting families, and helping folks live out their last days with dignity and peace. Surprisingly, she said most of her job frustration is from working with the other doctors. They have a hard time letting go- of accepting defeat and letting their patient die. It goes against everything they have trained for, worked towards. She chastised my husband last night for giving a family hope, when she felt there was none to be had. He vehemently disagreed with her, and at one point, I thought someone was going to take a bath in bernaise sauce. (not really, but it makes for a tasty visual).
She is comfortable with death. She's not jaded. She loves the interactions she has with patients and their families, and really feels like she is bettering a situation. That day, hours before she hightailed it over to our house for a cholesterol-laden meal, she was helping a 37 year old that had been diagnosed with cancer and had 2 weeks left to live. She has 2 young kids.
Heavy. Heavy meal, heavy discussion.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Inconvenient
Last night, I was headed to a cooking class.
A class I have looked forward to for months.
French cooking.
Which means butter. Lots and lots of butter.
I love butter.
But when I went to get in my car?
It wouldn't start.
I panicked, called my husband and took his instead.
This morning, when the guy came to jump start my beloved minivan?
He found a fried rat in the engine.
Someone please come hold me.
A class I have looked forward to for months.
French cooking.
Which means butter. Lots and lots of butter.
I love butter.
But when I went to get in my car?
It wouldn't start.
I panicked, called my husband and took his instead.
This morning, when the guy came to jump start my beloved minivan?
He found a fried rat in the engine.
Someone please come hold me.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Haute Cuisine
Update:
The smell is gone. Either I've tricked myself into believing that, or Mother Nature took pity on me. On Monday, I've got exterminators coming to help me better seal the house. Gah.
On to brighter things....
My baby turns four on Tuesday. Last night, we gathered local family for her annual "birthday dinner party." She loves this event. It's her time to be fawned on by grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and best of all? She gets to pick the menu.
Lucy's 4th Dinner Party Extravaganza:
spinach artichoke parmesan dip from Costco.
Chick Fil-A chicken nuggets platter
Pioneer Woman's baked beans (these are insanely good)
butter lettuce salad with blue cheese, dried cherries, almonds
Texas sheet cake w/ pink writing
Last year, we also served the nuggets. I sheepishly explained to everyone that this is what happens when your kid plans the menu- but was astonished at the rapid rate the nuggets were eaten. Folks secretly love the nuggets. My Mom even asked me if I'd make the baked beans. I love my family. They know how to party like a 4 year old.
The smell is gone. Either I've tricked myself into believing that, or Mother Nature took pity on me. On Monday, I've got exterminators coming to help me better seal the house. Gah.
On to brighter things....
My baby turns four on Tuesday. Last night, we gathered local family for her annual "birthday dinner party." She loves this event. It's her time to be fawned on by grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and best of all? She gets to pick the menu.
Lucy's 4th Dinner Party Extravaganza:
spinach artichoke parmesan dip from Costco.
Chick Fil-A chicken nuggets platter
Pioneer Woman's baked beans (these are insanely good)
butter lettuce salad with blue cheese, dried cherries, almonds
Texas sheet cake w/ pink writing
Last year, we also served the nuggets. I sheepishly explained to everyone that this is what happens when your kid plans the menu- but was astonished at the rapid rate the nuggets were eaten. Folks secretly love the nuggets. My Mom even asked me if I'd make the baked beans. I love my family. They know how to party like a 4 year old.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Rats.
My stellar week continues!!
So, apparently, my dog ate the couch because there was a rat in the wall. (located behind the couch).
The rat has now kicked the bucket, and the stench is unbelievable. Although my neighbors are consoling me with their own tales (pardon the pun) involving these beloved tree rats, (they love the fruit trees)- I'd love your opinion.
Do I tear holes in my wall searching for this pleasant surprise? Or just let nature run its course?
Inquiring minds (in a God awful smelly den of deceased varmin stench) would like to know.
So, apparently, my dog ate the couch because there was a rat in the wall. (located behind the couch).
The rat has now kicked the bucket, and the stench is unbelievable. Although my neighbors are consoling me with their own tales (pardon the pun) involving these beloved tree rats, (they love the fruit trees)- I'd love your opinion.
Do I tear holes in my wall searching for this pleasant surprise? Or just let nature run its course?
Inquiring minds (in a God awful smelly den of deceased varmin stench) would like to know.
Cocktail, Anyone?
Last week, my dog ate my couch.
Today, my computer imploded.
The service light came on in my car.
The first case of swine flu was diagnosed in my daughter's class.
So was a raging case of head lice.
Today, my computer imploded.
The service light came on in my car.
The first case of swine flu was diagnosed in my daughter's class.
So was a raging case of head lice.
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